Sure if I’ll be able to sleep tonight, or actually ever again

May 14, 2012

Seriously.

Okay so I’m a bit of an insomniac and I’m still up at 1:41. I’m listening, as I often do to an audible book by the master of creepy brilliance himself and my hero, Stephen King, I realize that this probably doesn’t help.

Also I should probably admit that I’m sitting in my florescent lit kitchen looking like the 1950’s blonde Hitchcock would have been proud of. I’m eating artichoke hearts with my fingers, guiltily and with great pleasure, as artichoke hearts from the can should be eaten.

Suddenly the phone rings.

I look down in surprise. My first thought is, is that it’s my friend I was supposed to text her when I got home okay.

‘Oh damn’

I think

‘I totally forgot. She was worried about me’

but the caller ID says

BLOCKED

Now I probably shouldn’t have answered it.

I shouldn’t have answered it, but I figured by the fact it said

BLOCKED

it was a campaigner and I wanted to give them a piece of my sleepless, tired mind.

‘How dare they call me when I should be asleep!’

Really, I realize that my answering the phone was equivalent to a blonde who’s alone in a mansion she’s house sitting and here’s a strange noise and calls out

Hello?

Then goes towards the noise, often without even the benefit of a knife.

‘I guess I’ll go investigate down in the basement then, in this little pink slip’

Hello?

I know, I know I shouldn’t have answered my phone. But I did.

‘Hello?’

I asked more statement than question, ready to give the crazy campaigner hell. I mean I’m a die-hard democrat but really enough is enough.

…..

Hello?

I asked again more tentatively,

Then a man’s voice answered me.

‘Hello?’

it said, almost mocking me.

‘Hello?’

I asked again and then

‘Who is this?’

There was a long silence and then the voice answered. I really, really wish it hadn’t.

It’s me.

And on the word me, the voice dropped (I’m not kidding) twenty octaves. The ‘me’ was inhumanly low, and gravely, hissing and literally sounded like my worst nightmare. Like not a human being.

I hung up.

I will be the first to admit that a vivid imagination can be a wonderful thing.
My vivid imagination gotten me through some pretty hideous dates. However, my vivid imagination can be a truly hideous thing.

Please also know that I’m writing a horror novel featuring a demonic serial killer and there are a series of unknown phone calls that the heroine receives.

Fun.

To date I’ve checked my cupboard and under my bed, though if I actually found someone there I’m not sure how I would handle it. It would be awkward to say the least.